‘I like it. I wouldn’t mind seeing you with a few more,’ said Damen. ‘To the north.’
He forced himself forward. Laurent swept him with a long, gleaming look.
‘If you didn’t fit Enguerran’s shoulderpiece, I was going to suggest you try the panoply off his horse.’
‘“I will take Guion”?’ said Damen.
‘Be fair. You won the battle before I could get to him. I thought I’d have half a chance, at least. Are all your conquests that decisive?’
‘Do things always work out as you plan?’
‘This time they did. This time everything did. You know, we just took an impregnable fort.’
They were gazing at one another. Ravenel, the jewel of the Veretian border: a punishing ground fight at Hellay, and a piece of mad trickery in mismatched clothing.
‘I know,’ he said, helplessly.
‘It’s double the men I was anticipating. And ten times the supplies. Shall I be honest with you? I thought I’d be taking a defensive position—’
‘At Aquitart,’ said Damen. ‘You had it supplied for a siege.’ He heard, as if from a distance, that he spoke in his usual voice. ‘Ravenel’s a little more defensible. Just have your men check under the helms before they open the gates.’
‘All right,’ said Laurent. ‘You see? I’m learning to take your advice.’ He spoke with an unselfconscious little smile that was wholly new.
Damen forced his gaze away. He thought of the work proceeding outside. The armoury was stocked, and more than stocked, meticulous rows of smooth metal and sharpened tips. Most of Touars’s men stationed in the fort had transferred their loyalty.
The walls were manned, and the ordinances for defence had been laid out. The equipment was readied for use. The men knew their duty, and from storehouses to courtyard to great hall, the fort was prepared. He had made sure of that.
He said, ‘What will you do next?’
‘Bathe,’ answered Laurent, in a tone that said he knew perfectly well what Damen had meant, ‘and change into something that’s not made of metal. You should do the same. I had the servants lay out some clothing for you that befits your new station. Very Veretian, you’ll hate it. I have something else for you as well.’
He turned back in time to see Laurent move briefly to pick up a half-circle of metal from a small table by the wall. It felt like the slow push of a spear into his body, the awful unfolding inevitability of it, in front of servants, in this small, intimate room.
‘I didn’t have time to give this to you before the battle,’ said Laurent.
He closed his eyes, opened them. He said, ‘Jord was your Captain through most of our march to the border.’
‘And you are my Captain now. That looks like it was close.’ Laurent’s gaze had shifted to his neck, where the collar was scarred from Touars’s blade; iron had bitten deep into the soft gold.
‘It was,’ said Damen, ‘close.’
He swallowed down hard on what crawled in his throat, turning his head to one side. Laurent held the Captain’s badge of office. Damen had seen Laurent transfer it once before, from Govart to Jord. Laurent would have taken it from Jord.
He still wore full armour, unlike Laurent, who stood before him, his yellow hair sweat-tendrilled from the fight. He could see the slight red imprints where Laurent’s armour had pressed through padding on his vulnerable skin. Breathing was a tight, painful thing.
Laurent’s hands rose to his chest, finding the place where cape met metal. The pin under Laurent’s fingers pricked fabric, slid, then fit to the clasp.
The doors to the room opened. Damen turned, unready.
A swell of people were spilling into the room, bringing with them the jovial atmosphere from outside. The change was sudden. Damen’s heartbeat was at odds with it. Yet the mood of the newcomers was congruent with Laurent’s, if not his own. Damen had another tankard thrust into his hand.
Unable to fight the tide of celebration, Damen was swept away by servants, by well-wishers. The last thing he heard was Laurent saying, ‘See to my Captain. Tonight he is to have anything that he asks for.’
* * *
Dancing and music wholly transformed the great hall. People in clusters laughed and clapped enthusiastically out of time with the music, rosily drunk because the wine had preceded the food, which was only now being brought.
The kitchens had rallied. The cooks cooked, the attendants attended. Nervous at first over the change in occupancy, the household staff had settled, and duty was transforming into willingness. The Prince was a young hero, coined in gold; look at those eyelashes, look at that profile. The commons had always loved Laurent. If Lord Touars had hoped for the men and women of his fort to resist Laurent, he had wished in vain. It was more like the commons rolled over and waited to be rubbed on the belly.